


Cancer One-shot

by Emo_Side_Chick



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, One Direction, Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Emo, One Shot, There is no smut, directioner - Freeform, imagine whoever, kinda like bandersnatch, kinda sucks, mum wouldn’t be proud, please get the references, that Netflix show thing, watch it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 01:12:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18560899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emo_Side_Chick/pseuds/Emo_Side_Chick
Summary: Turn away...





	Cancer One-shot

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine your otp in this.

I was watching the beautiful boy in front of me die with each breath he took. But I couldn’t save him from the oncoming train called cancer, the destroyer, and the final conqueror of him. 

As I stared at him, I tried to engrave every last detail about him in my mind, before it was too late. Everything about him was perfect, right down to his blood type even. He was just so beautiful, in his own way, with his feather, soft, black hair; his warm, brown eyes that felt like home. He was a true beauty. He was just shorter than me, although he denied otherwise, I found it adorable. 

He was my home in a sense. He was the only thing I loved in this world more than myself. And I would take a bullet for him. After all, the aftermath is secondary. 

If he didn’t have such a bad heart, we probably would have already moved in together. The hours after his treatment were never good, but it was time with him, nonetheless.   
He knew I was watching him. He knew me well; too well. 

“Turn away, will you? I’m awful just to see. Can’t you see my lips are chapped and faded? I guess I’m just soggy from the chemo. But still, please call my Aunt Marie, and then help her gather all my things. But really, I’m just counting down the days to go. This just ain’t living, lying in this hospital bed for days on end, praying that this stupid sickness might go away. But you know what? It never does. Never. It’s agony!”

Each word was like a knife, stabbing me and leaving a scar, as I knew that this would be the last time I ever saw this angel. He was nearing the finish line. He had to slow down, not hurtle towards the last leg of it before the race had even started.

“You don’t know that. You don’t know that you will die. Somebody may be a match. You can still fight this. Don’t give up on me.”

At this point, I was really sobbing. He looked back up at me, eyes once filled with joy and laughter, now sad, almost as if they had lost the will to keep fighting all together.

I remember the days we used to spend out at the park before he got bad. I would sit on the slide and he would sit on the swing. I never sat on the swing though, because that was his spot. My spot was the slide. 

I remember when he laughed at my crappy jokes I made, doubling over, tears leaking out of the side of his crinkled eyes, his one dimpled, toothy smile lighting up the room. After he finished laughing, he would blatantly tell me how bad at jokes I was.

That was my favourite sound; his laugh. I would do anything to hear it one last time. 

I went up the my little angel, the boy I gave my heart to at just 17. The one that was going to die unless he got a new heart. I walked up to him, the flowers in hand, his favourite ones too - a yellow rose, although he never told me that.

I noticed he like the roses when we were 14, walking through my parents yard, and he stopped and sniffed the roses. I remember being confused at this action. I never thought he had enough care to stop and smell the flowers.

I was wrong though.

I grabbed his hand, intertwining it with mine; they were so small and cold, so fragile, just like the rest of him. I wish I’d of known this would happen. I never thought he’d be so fragile. But he wasn’t alone.

I looked him up and down once again, and for the last time, looked at his wonder-filled face, that could never lose the inquisitive look that seemed to hold, with a hint of childness to it. The face that could light up a room like nobody else.

I could see his high arching cheekbones, now promident due to his treatment. His abnormally large forehead, once a canvas in which I used to reenact the opening scene to “The Lion King” (much to his dismay) was creased with worry, the shortened time he had making him look older than his years. 

I felt a stab in my chest. A gut-wrenching lurch in my stomach. How could such a beauty be taken away. He was so pure, not even lived his life yet, knowing that he will never marry. It’s the worst pain imaginable, and I once again feel the lump in my throat, preventing me from saying the words that I wanted to since the day the pretty little thing wormed his way into my life. 

I drank in the sight of him, full-well-knowing this would be the last time in my lifetime I would see such a precious thing.

I just wanted him to smile. If I saw him smile one last time, the engraved that moment into my memory forever, I may then have some peace of mind.

I looked into his broken eyes, now glossy with tears waiting to spill. I couldn’t stop now. If I didn’t try talking now, I was going to cry. And then I would never get to utter the three words that showed how much he meant to me.

So I close my eyes and push onwards.

“Ever since we met, I only shoot up on your perfume. It’s really the only thing that makes me feel as good as you.”

I crack open one eye, and see him with his eyes shut, head back, his hands tangled in my hair, a ghost of a smile I once took for granted playing across his lips.

Then it hits me. 

Back in middle school, my perfect little angel used to sing one song. I ended up learning the lyrics to it, because he wouldn’t ever shut up about it. I recall him saying once; “Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking off her clothes; but it’s better if you do.” 

Both happened to be song titles. When I asked him about them, he simply said;  
“They don’t know that we know that they know we know that the songs are clearly about sex, without ever mentioning it.”

It baffles my mind, still to this day how he managed to say that so clearly. So, in order for me to see that precious smile one last time, I had to start singing it. 

And he knew how much I hated it.

I stand up suddenly and pull the hospital curtain around the bed, then quickly run and dim the lights, enough for me to have a distinct shadow behind the curtain.

“Babe, what are you doing?”

“Hush my child, I will be back to braid your hair with all your favourite colours after..”

Then I hear my most favourite noise in the world, as quiet as it may be. It was the tiniest of giggles, but the sound that came from the dying boy I loved made my heart melt. 

“Okay, just please hurry. My hair won’t braid itself, It’s already falling out!”

That sent a pang to my heart, tearing down the remainder of the walls I had built. My step faltered. 

I put on my best ringmaster voice, the same one 14 year old us used when we would dance around his room to Blink-182.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, let me present to you, the broadway production of ‘Closer…’”

I hook one leg around the curtain, in a seducing, but playful way. 

Here goes nothing. Sad Soap Opera Mode: Activated.

“Is it still me that makes you sweat….?”

I hear an excited gasp from the hospital bed.

I peer around and see him sitting up in his bed, a hostile look now in his eyes.

“When the lights are dim…”

 

I give a little leap into the room, nearly knocking over the pot plant next to his bed.

He rolls his eyes, chucking slightly.

“...And your hands are shaking as you’re sliding off your dress..”

I hand the “microphone” to him.

I forgot how well he could sing.

“Now think of what you did and how I hope to God he was worth it…”

A small smile finds it way onto his face,

“The lights are dim…  
...and your hands are shaking...”

I wish I could photograph this moment, but it is cut off by the nurse coming in, telling me to say my final goodbyes to my angel.

I turn to him desperately, cupping his face with my hands, resting my forehead against his.

I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. How dare they take him from me?

“You are far too young to die. So please, give me one last kiss ‘cause you are far too young to die. Let me remember you.”

He shuts his eyes, a heavy sigh leaving his lips.

“Just promise me a house in your memories.”

Those were his famous last words before he was wheeled away.

I left the chocolates and the card I wrote on the table, and took down the photos of us. I emptied my pockets into the drawers by his bed, and his favourite hoodie of mine.

I looked to the doctor who came in.

“Are you ready?”

She looked polite enough, a soft, sad look on her face, as I nodded. 

“Ready to go.”

Those were my famous last words.

 

~

 

They don’t tell you what it’s like to die. I thought it would hurt, but it’s more like putting your head under a warm bath. You are engulfed with the feeling, and you forget all your worries.

I looked down from the gates I had seated myself on to watch my precious boy wake up from his life-saving surgery.

I loved that boy so much. He was my world.

Although I was millions of miles up in the sky, I could see my boy as clear as day in his room, his eyes groggy as they first start to open. He looks from side to side, looking for someone, and seeing the flowers.

It’s obvious he is looking for me, and I can’t say anything to him. 

I watch him call for a nurse, and wait desperately for her to come in.

 

“Where was the boy I was with? Where is he?”

I watch the nurse smile sadly at him.

“Who do you think gave you their heart?”

I watch his eyes fall, kind of like a child on christmas morning being told that santa didn’t come and he wasn’t real, but ten times worse. A heartbreaking, broken sob leaves his mouth, the sound grating against my ears.

I said I would do the world for this boy. He was my world, and I do anything to save my world, even if it meant giving him my heart.

After all, the aftermath is secondary.


End file.
